Lethe
Who walks now
out of someone else’s memory
as if she owned this, my space?
Her face keeps changing
it forms then falls apart like melting snow,
now she is this other person
that recalls me.
Who am I to gather up her reality
to piece together her history,
to deny her to sit next to me now
here at the edge of this bed
wanting to hold hands?
Perhaps she will explain to me
why we meet only between
the shallows and the deep?
Maybe tell me how we met,
why we parted -
why me?
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